


The Tumbler

by justbreathe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe/pseuds/justbreathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's used to unorthodox experiments in the house. This, though? This takes it too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tumbler

He'd gone for milk.

John had offered, first, after the cursory called alert that they were out. He'd even begun to put his jacket on, seeing the familiar steepled fingers. Mid-motion, however, he was caught, Sherlock rising as abruptly as his voice.

"I'll do it."

In hindsight, he should have been suspicious, rather than grateful, should have stopped him instead of settling onto the couch where the seats were still warm and pulling over his laptop. Good, a few minutes alone, and Sherlock was actually doing his part to help the house.

Fifteen minutes later, his phone went off.

_Hypothetically,_ the text began, which already had John rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh, _what would your reaction to me bringing home three bags of frozen pizzas and a young woman be? SH_

It took him a moment to process, to frown, although not nearly as long as he would have liked. Not nearly as long as might have been normal. Nor was his answer normal, when he typed it out, his brow furrowed darkly.

_Hypothetically,_ and here was hoping it was genuine hypothesis which wasn't going anywhere, but that was already far too optimistic, _I would ask if she is here against her will._ What was the unimportant part? Right, freezer. _And there is no room for pizzas in the freezer because of your urine experiment. -JW_

There. That was settled. John shifted back, got comfortable, pressed play again, and had just begun to get back into the plot of his film when the phone buzzed at him.

_Damn. Nix the pizza. Make up the couch for the night. Be there in 20. SH_

No, was his first thought, but he knew better than to say "no" to Sherlock. It wasn't as though the man would listen. Wait, was he serious about bringing a woman to the house? He wasn't talking about a fangirl, was he? Or even worse, as he'd originally feared, someone he was using for an experiment... Either way, this wouldn't end well. Pursing his lips, he typed out an impulse response.

_Sherlock, are you sure she actually wants to come with you? -JW_

There was no reply.

Forty-five minutes later, the door downstairs opened, letting in the sound of Sherlock speaking quickly and genially to a high-pitched voice which was almost drowned by the rustle of plastic bags. John had not, in fact, done anything to prepare himself or the couch, perhaps in the hope this had been a fleeting whim. He hadn't moved from his spot, which was now sprung from as though it were on fire, the laptop slammed shut and shoved to one side as he darted away to look busy. A young woman. Right. Why the _hell_ would Sherlock be bringing a _'young woman'_ to their flat!

"John?" he called as he opened the door, his voice quite plainly that of a man in character. "Are you home?" Oh, no. No, no, no that sounded far too much like that character... "I guess he stepped out," Sherlock had lowered his voice to say, when John appeared from the kitchen with a hastily-chosen beer in hand and a forced smile marring his face.

"No, I'm here," he admitted, putting as much of his displeasure into that single phrase as possible. Sherlock didn't even flinch, but rather grinned at him, and gestured to the girl behind him, who had a pillow under one arm and was laden with plastic bags filled with what sounded like bath supplies.

"Good, you are home! John, I'd like you to meet Lisa." The girl offered her hand, but was far too burdened to complete the action successfully. "Lisa's going to stay the night with us." Politely, as was necessary, John had directed the false smile at the woman and nodded a little in greeting, muttering something which came naturally.

"Sherlock, can I talk to you?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and stalked back into the other room. Behind him, he heard Sherlock quietly excuse himself, and was grateful when he glanced back to see he'd dropped the act to speak to him.

"What is going on here?" As though his own terrible acting weren't cue enough, the furtive, angry cut to his voice had to be checked, else it become loud enough for their 'guest' to hear. "Who is she, really?"

"She's a twenty-three year old waitress on break from Oxford University, studying medicinal psychiatry, recently broken up with her boyfriend of four years and in desperate need of someplace to stay." Here he broke, finally, to give the girl a little smirk as she gazed around their sitting room. "Or so she tells me." As the look slid back to John, it shifted just slightly, earning a pointed, disapproving one in response.

"Right. And _what_ is she doing in our home?"

"Just a little experiment." Oh, those were not the words he wanted to hear, but he was given no time to object before Sherlock slunk back to the sitting room, to assure himself that the young woman was comfortable and resume the conversation they were having up the staircase. Something about produce, from the sound of it. John sipped his beer, and took a moment to think. If Sherlock had brought the woman - Lisa, wasn't it? - back here for an experiment, it was, from the information John had at hand, probably because of her background in psychotherapy. Granted, there could have been a number of things Sherlock had observed but not yet told him which would provide a better reason. Tilting his head, John watched the two interact, confirmed the character Sherlock had chosen to present Lisa with, watched them set up the couch, clean the place up a bit, chat amicably. Lisa settled down, took over the couch, withdrew a laptop from inside the pillowcase.

"You don't mind if I check my Tumblr, do you?" Suddenly, instantly, with the clarity of the damned, John understood, and his gaze settled on the pair in the adjacent room like an oncoming storm. _Tumblr._ He'd heard the word before, had investigated it beyond that, and the very idea of it was enough to set his teeth on edge. _No,_ said his mind again, as he slowly set down his beer, let his feet lead him into the sitting room, and, when he was sure Lisa wasn't looking, gave Sherlock the heartiest, angriest, most unforgiving glare he could muster. There was a dangerous glee in Sherlock's eyes, his only response, as he provided Lisa with the password to their Wifi. And with the combination of that character, this woman, and Sherlock's devious mind, _they were doomed._

Silence fell over them for a good half hour, or very near it, as John accepted his fate and made himself a meal, and Sherlock kicked off his shoes and joined Lisa on the couch, his own laptop sprawled over his crossed legs. They ignored each other for the most part, each of them content to get lost in their little electronic worlds, while John paced seemingly unnoticed between the kitchen, the sitting room, and his own room, surreptitiously observing them. Thirty minutes of relative silence, before the sound of uncontrollable giggles broke it, Lisa's hands flying to her mouth to stifle the noise as her face reddened suddenly.

"What?" Sherlock asked, just as amiable as he had been this whole time, just as casual, although John had stopped in horror to stare at them from the doorway to the kitchen. It took a moment for Lisa to turn to him, a moment for her eyes to grow wide as saucers, for her to realise her mistake. John had realised it the second she'd walked in, but even now chose, quite wisely, to say nothing.

"Just something on Tumblr," came her response, a quick cascade of words before she turned back to her screen and abruptly scrolled away from it. That wasn't enough for Sherlock, however.

"Show me?" It took all of John's conscious effort not to dart forward and do something horribly violent, his mind offering options anywhere from punching him to shaking him violently until he sustained a decent concussion. Anything to stop him, to make him realise exactly what he was doing and how utterly _frightening_ it was. Lisa hesitated, turned slowly to him, and gave him a shaky smile. Sherlock's toothy grin was unbreakable, not a single crack in his facade as John watched the scene before him in growing terror. Like a rabbit caught by a fox, she stared at Sherlock, moments passing, long and painful, before she turned her eyes pleadingly to John. John, however, was just as helpless as she was, and catching Sherlock's gaze gave him the same look Lisa had shot to him. The maniac was still smiling. A masterpiece of desperation could have been painted from the amount of tension between them all, and Sherlock was _smiling._ Slowly, as fate caught up to them, and neither John nor Lisa could run any longer, the girl turned back to her computer, scrolled up, and turned the screen to Sherlock. Immediately her hands went over her face, and after a second John realised she was sobbing.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Every inch of character had disappeared from Sherlock's face, and as though granted access to a crime scene he had fixed his attention upon the laptop before him and was examining it thoroughly. Although it was hard to feel pity for her, John made his careful way to the couch and touched their guest's shoulder.

"It's alright. It's...just calm down. It's fine." What had she seen that had upset her so much? Was it something Sherlock had said, or done, that John hadn't been witness to? Frowning at Sherlock now, he tried to catch a glimpse of whatever Sherlock was looking at, without leaning too far over the still-crying woman. "It's alright, really. Just calm down. Please."

"Quiet. Both of you." Sherlock's voice cracked over the two of them like a whip, and, obedient, they both fell silent. Lisa sat staring at him, while John rubbed her back in small circles, the action unconscious now, waiting for some sign of what to do. This all seemed a mess, but then Sherlock had gotten them out of much bigger ones. He just wished he didn't have to clean up after him so often.

Eventually, with an intake of breath, Sherlock sat back and steepled his fingers, his eyes locked still on the screen before him. This was John's cue, and quietly he leaned down to speak to the girl himself.

"What was that?" For a moment, he could play along with Sherlock's act. That they were close. Closer than flatmates. Concerned with one another. Completely different from the way they typically were, close rather than distant, warm rather than Sherlock's typical untouchable demeanour. Lisa turned to him with a soft gasp, her face quivering for a moment, threatening to burst into tears once more.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to...I didn't want to offend you. Either of you." As her voice began to rose into a whimper, John hushed her again, gently but a little urgently.

"I don't think he's offended. Just curious. What _was_ it?" he insisted, giving her a look of confusion himself, aiming for nonplussed. Again with the quiver, and John shook his head, running his hand over her back, hoping that would be enough. She shook her head once more, and sniffed.

" _It's you,_ " she whispered finally, conspiratorially, tears swelling in her eyes once more, as though she were pronouncing a sentence of death, or admitting to a terrible crime. Genuinely confused, John had begun to ask her again to elaborate, when the pieces fell together. Tumblr, Sherlock's boyfriends ruse, this young woman, chosen as an experiment.

"Oh." The blood rushed from John's face, and, unable to control himself, he stepped back, nearly tripping over his own feet before hid body came to rest heavily in a chair. He'd never been as good at acting as Sherlock, and Lisa had very quickly and easily crossed the line into no longer comfortable enough to play along. Both his hands laced together, and came to cover his nose and mouth, as his eyes squeezed shut, blinking back a blossoming headache. Sherlock usually had this effect on him, when he made him extremely angry, and this was becoming one of those times as well, as John noticed that Sherlock's gaze had settled on him, and he was giving the man a wicked smirk.

"That's all, thank you Lisa," came the proclomation, a judge handing down a sentence, and Sherlock unfolded himself from the couch and placed the laptop back into Lisa's space. "You're welcome to stay the night, if you still want to." And with that he was gone, leaving Lisa staring between the direction he'd gone and the laptop screen in utter, helpless defeat, and John rocking gently back and forth in the chair across from her, looking as though he might nosebleed, or pass out, or kill something, or more likely all three in decreasing order of importance. After a long silence, Lisa managed to stifle a sob, and curling into herself began to apologise again, over and over, in frantic, shuddering whispers.

"It's okay," John told her, slowly lowering his hands to his lap, although his eyes were still lost somewhere between the wall and Sherlock's fiery, bloody death. He meant it this time, and when he repeated it he made sure that was obvious. "It's fine. It's not your fault." She was still crying into her knees when he looked down at her, and sighed, shaking his head. "It's just Sherlock. He's like this." Still crying. Really, he should be used to this by now. With a sigh, he rose, and gave her a small but genuine smile, apologetic. Always cleaning up his messes. "I'll make us some tea, then?" The best medicine. As he rose, however, he realised the screen was still angled out, and, with the curiosity of a cat, paused briefly and tilted his head to see it.

"..."

"...Right. Tea."


End file.
